Directive
by Shiva Darkwater
Summary: Guimel’s only desire is to make his captain proud of him... (GuimelDilandau with reference to MiguelDilandau)


**Author**: Shiva Darkwater **Fandom**: The Vision of Escaflowne **Rating**: PG-13 **Summary**: Guimel's only desire is to make his captain proud of him… **Disclaimer**: Escaflowne's not mine. I lay no claims. Although if I did own it the Dragon Slayers would not have died, or at least Dilandau would have gotten _some_ kind of revenge for everyone's death. **Author's Notes**: I'm sure you're wondering GUIMEL and Dilandau?! But hey, sheep-boy needs some attention too. He usually never gets anyone. Poor guy. And I love him, so he'll probably be included in all my Dragon Slayer fics (even if the anime never gave him a personality… the anime never gave anyone a personality really, yet everyone writes Dallet as being the playboy.) All of the Dragons Slayers feel something for Dilandau. This is just my sad attempt at wanting something to even happen between them…

Directive

He knew from the start that he would never become a favourite…

No matter the rigorous training he put his body through, or the people he had acquainted himself with. No matter the precautions he had taken to ensure he looked his best: boots polished, uniform straight, unmanageable curls combed into some semblance of order, it would never be enough to become the captain's favourite.

Leave that job for the others who could excel without trying, he told himself, just focus on becoming the best that you can be. Just be able to be useful when you are actually needed… even if you're only useful for a moment…

Fingers slid through his pale curls, clenching blindly as they trembled, the shoulders they were attached to shaking, the body trembling. Thigh muscles tightened their grip on the body trapped between them, lips parting above to cry out at the sensation of the mouth that worked at the junction of thigh and hip.

Just be useful when you are actually needed, he repeated to himself, carrying about his soldier duty with precision. Six rigorous years of practice had made him ready for this day, this moment when his captain had actually needed him. He was sure to fulfil the obligation with skill.

"Miguel!"

One cry, two thrusts, three trembles and four panting breaths and it was finished, his captain's body slumping against the back of the throne he was sitting on. Fingers loosened, and stroked through the curls of hair almost as an after thought, mind somewhere else, always somewhere else.

"Dilandau-sama…?" his voice was soft, not knowing what had made him so bold as to speak out to his captain. Never had he really spoken to the other before, fearing him though their closeness in age, fearing the title that the other had, not wanting to bridge that gap of respect he felt.

The other said nothing, scarlet eyes staring ahead. Remaining where he was between his captain's legs, he tried not to make himself too comfortable, though enjoying the petting that his scalp was receiving. Was this his reward for completing his task dutifully? Had he pleased the other? What else would be asked of him?

"You may go Guimel…" was all Dilandau said. "I expect you to be at practice early tomorrow morning as usual. Go get your rest." Never through all of this did he glance down to the soldier between his legs, eyes still remaining distant and dreamy. "Go."

Green eyes widened, lips parting to gape a little at what his captain was commanding of him. He shifted a little, the position he had been kneeling in uncomfortable and there was a slight ache between his legs, much like the one he had just relieved… But what had he expected?

"Yes… Dilandau-sama…" Yet he was reluctant to move from the gentle stroking of fingers through his hair. The one time that he had been chosen over the others, the one time that he got to prove his undying loyalty and faith…

Guimel pulled back from his captain with regret. Had he not been good enough? Had he not excelled? Or was it just because he never would become the favourite?

Because there was no way he could surpass when the favourite was gone for good.


End file.
